


the lone traveller, tracing triumphs

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: the lone traveller multiverse [25]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 09:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: Sansa is adrift without Theon.****Part of the lone traveller verse but can be read as a standalone.





	the lone traveller, tracing triumphs

Sansa stood on the deck, her eyes shut placidly, her feet planted confidently apart. She was memorising the sensation of the sweet sea air stroking her red ringlets, and salt spray skipping across the leather bodice of her dress in a repetitive rhythm of sprinkling. Her smile was a subdued secret that she kept, as she was lulled the melody of the slowly pitching ship, bobbing robustly through the frothy white surf.

“I see you found your sea legs,” Theon teased, his lovely bright eyes sparkling with fond affection.

Sansa responded with a light shrug, a small, delicate movement.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Theon nodded toward the clear horizon, the sky such a blazing shade of blue that it was almost purple.

“Magnificent,” Sansa agreed, because it was: despite the natural fear that had crept up her neck to settle about her shoulders like an unwanted cloak, once the land had dropped out of view.

She could not deny that the raw power of the ocean, with nary a rock in sight to marr it, held a beauty unrivalled by even the Trident, or the greatest lakes in Westeros. Rolling waves of indigo and black turned green and magenta, depending on the position of the sun. The sky was alternately streaked orange, pink and red plumes of colour, vibrant shades she had never seen in such scope before.

“Thank you,” said Theon, in regard to no action Sansa could identify.

She turned to face him fully in question, and he offered her a sheepish half-shrug of one shoulder.

“I’m not sure I should ever have been half so bold, were it not for a wife as courageous as you,” he confessed plainly.

“I don’t know-” Sansa immediately denied, but Theon shook his head decisively before she could counter him.

“I’m no craven,” said Theon, “Yet there are shades of strength, I think. Castle-trained men can fight, and will die for what they believe is right. Many take hidden steps to secure the legacy of their House and personal line. But most remain safe upon the shores of their forebears, and accept the lot they have been granted, without reaching too far above it.”

Sansa agreed that this was a true assessment for the lives of the vast majority of Westerosi men.

“And yet not I,” Theon grinned, “You pressed me to become a commander of men; a King, no less. Your understanding of the world, and the people governing it, made me a better leader. Your love made me a better man.”

Sansa blushed, startled to feel thorny tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Though she and Theon were honest with one another, they rarely spoke so candidly. Theon would not allow her to deny his words.

“And now here we are,” he concluded, “Off to broker a trading alliance with the Free Cities, trade of a magnitude no Ironborn has ever dared, in a land we have personally never seen. Sansa, my love, you are a furnace; and you forged me into kind of King that begins a dynasty. I never dreamed to reach so high. I would never have dared, were it not for you.”

He took her pale hand from where it had been resting on the rim of the ship, and clasped it betwixt both of his own. Despite the brisk wind, Theon’s hands were warm as he drew her hand to his mouth, to press a reverent kiss upon it.

“It has been an honour to stand beside you,” Sansa replied softly, “And I am proud to call you my own dear heart.”

Sansa was captivated by the love she saw reflected in Theon’s eyes.

 _In the end, all of my selfish dreams came true,_ she mused. _I married a Prince from another Kingdom and moved far from home. He made me a Queen, and yet I couldn’t care less for any of that._

“Domeric Bolton asked me once, if I could ever truly be satisfied in a place like Pyke, with no trees and as many luxuries.”

Theon snorted at her frank assessment, but did not interrupt. Years by her side had only imbibed him with deeper respect for her opinion and advice. He had moulded into a patient man, and a genuinely attentive listener.

“I told him I should be pleased with a hut, so long as I had you to share it with,” she revealed.

Theon’s brows flew sky-ward in surprise.

“Even then, you loved me so?” He blurted out.

“Even then,” Sansa confirmed, drawing their still clasped hands to her own lips, to repeat his lordly gesture of affection on his warm skin.

“Sansa…” Theon whispered, her name dropping from his lips like a prayer.

“My Queen?”

A wrinkle appeared on her brow, and she turned her face away from the offensive intrusion.

“Your grace?”

Sansa’s eyes fluttered open, swiftly scalded by the bloody summer sunset. Victarion shuffled in front of her, unnerved to be the sole focus of her burning gaze.

Sansa had a brutal reputation. Though Victarion was a formidable foe on the battefield, she was skilled in the remit he was not, namely anything that required intelligence. He never challenged her authority.

Sansa did not feel she had entirely earned her infamy. Whispers told her it was due mainly to exaggerated embellishments of second-hand retellings. One gruesome tale suggested she had borrowed Theon’s axe to dismember Euron Greyjoy, whilst his wronged brother watched stoically. It was ludicrous fear-mongering nonsense, and none who actually set eyes upon Sansa would ever take it for truth. None would suggest she was capable of chopping firewood, let alone cleaving off a man’s limb.

Yet Sansa begrudgingly admitted to herself it made sense such rumours would persist, in the far-flung places of the known world. Places where they might suppose Sansa Greyjoy an Ironborn by birth, mayhaps with a stature akin to Brienne of Tarth. But it was strange to know that Victarion, who knew her well, was intimidated by her.

Sansa said nothing to put Victarion at ease. She merely waited for him to speak. He had come to understand when her silences indicated a willingness to listen.

“The wind is picking up, my Queen. I think we are in for a rough night. It would be best to retire to your cabin now.”

Sansa cast her eyes across the barren sea, devoid of charm, its inky depths undulating against the dull grey clouds, speaking of heavy rain and tempestuous tides to follow.

“Aye,” she replied simply, before dipping her head into a shallow nod and taking her leave.

“Sansa…” Theon’s voice echoed in the salty breeze, slipping beneath the folds of her dress, scalding across her chest, cascading down her breasts, to collect in the plains of her stomach.

She pressed her hands to her stomach, as though she could trap and keep a part of him there. But she knew it was futile. The only pieces of Theon which remained in this life, were the five grown children he had begotten upon her, already slipped from her fingers and scattered across the land.

*

_Dearest Mother and Father,_

_Today I write to you following the Festival of Light. Though it is Aunt Melisandre’s festival, it is well loved by the people of Dragonstone, even those who keep the Seven. I was not sure the Drowned God should like me to take part in a ritual to honour the fire god. But Ser Davos said you should join the celebrations of your hosts when you are invited. We all lined up on the cliffs at twilight and I wore the new cloak you sent Mother, and it was very warm._

_The candles we used are very thin and quite small, and I said a prayer to the Drowned God when I lit mine. Uncle Jon said that even the surest sailor needs a candle to read his maps at night, and the stars are the burning fires that guide his way. I prayed that my parchment lantern might not be swallowed by the sea, before it had a chance to fly above you both. I hope you are not displeased with me for taking part._

_You have always told me that I must respect my family Mother, especially when I am a guest in their home and I did not want to be rude. I wanted to join the celebration. I thought of you and Father when I lit my candle and stood with everyone lined on the high cliffs above the beach. We had to wait until the colour of the sea matched the colour of the sky before we could let them go. Aunt Melisandre said some funny words in Asshai’i. Aemon speaks it as easily as the Common Tongue but he has only managed to teach me a few words. Aunt Melisandre released the first lantern and then thousands of tiny burning lights were swept into the sky. It was as though a gust of wind had blown the stars off course, and they were drifting from me all the way to shine over you. It was a splendid sight._

_I have told you in my other letters how well I find my cousins. Aemon is very clever and keeps a plain look on his face when he is japing, which makes it all the funnier. Jojen is quick and mischievous, though most don’t know it because he has a sweet face. None would suspect him of being the one who released the chickens into the kitchens, but I know it was him. I did not tell Uncle Jon though he was very cross, because Aemon and Jojen are my brothers in arms and I am loyal._

_I know you are doing important work in Essos and why I could not come. I know the new trade will help our people. I am happy here and glad you sent me to foster with Uncle Jon. But I miss home very much. At first I was so very busy with my lessons and trying not to get lost in the keep and sparring with my cousins it was as though I did not have time to dwell on home. But now I think of it often and look forward to when you can come and visit, and tell me everything about the Free Cities. I do hope you will get a tattoo when you are there, Father. Uncle Jon’s tattoos are brilliant. The wolves are very well-done, but my favourite is the green and purple kraken. At fIrst I was surprised that Uncle Jon would have our sigil on his skin, but now I understand they are for our joined family._

_Ser Davos told me I should tell you of my lessons, but I forgot until now. I am good with the sword, and Uncle Jon said I am a better archer than Father already, but I know he was japing. Many people think Uncle Jon doesn’t jape, but he is like Aemon, and keeps his face plain. Aunt Melisandre says he sulks too much. But I think he is just very busy. The men here are not like the men at home. They are not so loud here, and do not oft jape nor drink as much ale. Lord Valeryon is very sour and mean. There is no one here who quaffs his drink and sings like Uncle Dagmer. And no one juggles knives at dinner like cousin Quenton._

_I must go to my lessons now. Aunt Melisandre has been teaching us all to slide into the shadows, but I am not very good at it. She says we must learn to do it in the bright light of morn, because that is when it’s hardest. If we can master it in the morn, it will be easy. We must never do it when the sun has set, not unless we travel all the way to Asshai to bind a shadow there. Jojen is much better than me, even though we began learning at the same time. Aunt Melisandre says I shall master it with time, and Jojen has an advantage because the Neck was forged from shadow, like Asshai._

_I wait for the day when I see your ship from the cliffs, and race down to the beach to wait for you there._

_Your dutiful son,  
_ _Uri_

_PS. Have you seen a dragon? Aemon says they were spotted over Meereen, though I think everyone would be talking of it, if it were so._

Sansa set the letter on her walnut writing desk, and shared a smile with her husband. She missed her son like a physical ache, but it wasn’t safe to take one so young so far from home to unfamiliar territories. Essos had slavers and pirates in its waters. Though she might be brave enough to venture toward those perils herself, she would never risk her son so.

“He seems joyful,” Sansa said, “Even though he misses us.”

Theon nodded. “Are we quite sure Melisandre should be teaching him magic?”

“You gave your permission when Jon first wrote to us, we can’t retract it now.”

“I suppose.” Theon sighed, still sounding dubious about it, but recognising when a battle was already lost.

“Well, are you going to do it?” Sansa asked, suddenly looking coy.

“Do what?” Theon asked, over an influx of loud cawing gulls outside their window, with its pretty yellow shutters, that were open to let in the cool sea breeze. Gauzy fabric floated in front of it, preventing the harsh glare of the sun falling directly onto them.

“Get a tattoo, of course.” Sansa tittered, laughing uproariously at Theon’s mortified splutter.

“And have my arm fall off?”

Sansa could not reply, for she was too occupied with her giggling.

“Not even a small one?” She wheedled, but he was not moved.

“Impudent wench,” Theon declared, rising up on his knees from where he had been sprawled lazily on the rug near her feet, to place his hands on her waist and draw her down into a series of kisses.

Breathless, Sansa leaned down into a bowed curve to rest her head against him, her face turned away. So that he would not see her troubled countenance. Out of the window, she could see the white spires and terracotta roofs of the buildings, stretching out for miles, almost as far as the eye could see, before the verdant mountains in the far distance.

“I miss him,” she revealed in a hushed tone, as though the pain of it would be somehow nullified by not declaring it loudly.

“As do I,” Theon replied, stroking her back with one large, sturdy hand soothingly.

Sansa closed her eyes, and brought her son’s face to mind. Uri had dark hair, like Theon’s mother and sister. It didn’t curl the way Sansa’s did. But he had her Tully blue eyes, and Theon’s smile. He was curious and cheery and asked an exhausting amount of questions. Sansa wanted to wrap Uri in her arms and set him on her lap, while he practiced his letters by reading aloud to her, as he used to. She wanted to tuck him into bed at night and kiss his brow as she had so often before, and sing him to sleep with sweet Northern lullabies.

“I don’t want to leave him on Dragonstone,” said Sansa, a plea she let slip before she could stop herself.

Theon pulled back from her to look her in the eye.

“We agreed to send him to Jon for three years.” He reminded her.

“I know what we said,” Sansa sobbed, “But I don’t think I can stand it. My baby, Theon, my only son. I want to take him home with us, when we return to Westeros.”

Theon sighed, but she could see he was softening to her plight.

“Jon might be insulted if we take him home early-”

“Not our Jon,” Sansa countered quickly, “Some unrelated lord, perhaps. But Jon will believe us, when we say its no reflection on his ability to care for Uri and the lessons they’ve provided. I need my son with me, Theon. Jon will understand.”

“Hush,” Theon gentled her, wiping away the tears that had spilled upon her cheeks, “Do you think I’d say no? I’d not deny you anything that was in my power to give, Sansa, you know it.”

“Really?” Sansa gulped, her blue eyes bright with hope, “Do you mean it?”

“I mean it, my love,” Theon confirmed, “We’ll take Uri home with us when we return to Dragonstone.”

“Oh Theon!” she cried, and then Sansa said no more, throwing herself from the chair and into her husband’s open arms.

*

_Dear Mother,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. It seems an age since I last wrote to you in Essos. Though we have been parted many times in our lives, I shall never forget the joy of that first reunion on the beach at Dragonstone when I was just a boy. Watching you and Father step out of the row boat and into the water seemed like a dream, I had whiled away idle moments with the thought for so long. You were like the Southron Mother goddess given form in that moment. When you embraced me I never wanted to be parted from you again._

_I do not remember the moment I grew out of such feelings; as all children must one day, when they step upon their own paths. I only know that the longing I felt for my parents then has rekindled in me now that you are returned to Essos, and this time with my Dalton. I am glad to hear he is getting along well with his cousins. Thank you for having the sketches of Sandor and his wife and sons commissioned. I have never seen him with such long hair! But it suits him I have decided. Steffarion looks a little like my Theon, I think. Around the chin and mouth._

_Nesse has come to visit us. She looks so lovely. Wedded life clearly agrees with her. Last night she sang a song that you must have taught her, for it so reminded me of you. I think it must be a Northern song, because Beth knew it. I hope someday you will sing for me again, Mother._

_I know you said you didn’t require anything from us for Dalton, but I have arranged for a necklace to be delivered to you. I know you shan't treat yourself as often as you should, and now you cannot refuse, because it’s not for Dalton, it's for you._

_Father would be sad to see you so downhearted. He’d want you to do the things that always brought you joy. Please accept the necklace Mother, and wear it to a dance. Father would want you to._

_Your loving son,  
_ _Uri_

Sansa folded the letter carefully, and took another look at her new necklace. The emeralds had been set alongside diamonds. It was large and a bit gaudy for her taste; the kind of thing a great lady might wear in the court of King’s Landing.

“But it is a gift from my baby.” Sansa reasoned aloud, before lifting it from the box.

Carefully, she clasped the heavy necklace about her throat. It had been many years since she had attended any dances or sung for anyone. But perhaps the time had come for her to do so. For Uri.

And for Theon, who had always tried so hard to ensure she was always happy.

 _Oh, my love,_ she thought, _how could I ever be happy without you?_ _But I shall try; for Uri, I will try._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There is no one in the world who could replace you...  
> Dreams, dreams  
> Of when we had just started things  
> Dreams of you and me  
> It seems, it seems  
> That I can't shake those memories  
> I wonder if you feel the same way too
> 
> -Littlest Things, Lily Allen


End file.
